Vox Populi
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Christine Rhein: Poem for Lisel Mueller
using the 100 words most frequent in her book, Second Language
I’ve turned toward dream again, endless steps,
sky without voice, as though the music of birds,
or my mother singing, never happened.
Whose figure is at the door, whose hair
inside my mirror? Behind everything, death,
and young children at play, the way they finally
pick the last one for a team. Green hunger.
Blue winter. I open brittle letters, lines
in the dark, press my heart against the window,
the place my child-mind first believed in.
Take me back to rushing water. I cannot find
the stones for crossing. Tell me, do we really
fall in love, or just let ourselves stand there,
the must-do head giving way to someone else’s arms,
night walks, poems, the language of leaves.
My old lives turn white. The German sun—
a woman, life itself glowing red. I think of the clock’s
long face, time saying, “Come. Look at the skin
and body of a fallen tree.” Words tumble down
in black but, still, light shines from the houses,
from the world of now, of names, even when
new naming does nothing to uncloud the years,
two failing eyes. I know the full moon
casts a story, see it waning in my hands.
~~~~
Copyright 2026 Christine Rhein
Christine Rhein, a former auto engineer, is the author of Wild Flight (Texas Tech University Press). Her poems have appeared in The Gettysburg Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Southern Review, Poetry Daily and Verse Daily.
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Wow! I’ve used a word bank before, but what a challenge to use 100! And what an interesting way to honor Lisel — it’s wonderful that you were able to read it to her. Bravo!
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What a challenge you mastered, Christine. And how beautifully and seamlessly you did this! I nodded “yes, yes” to so many lines. Here are just acouple: “Behind everything, death,//and young children at play, the way they finally // — pick the last one for a team.” And: “Take me back to rushing water. I cannot find
the stones for crossing.” And reading Sean’s reply, I want to say/ask How lonelier we would be without VP, right? When we — at times — think (or, like me, are convinced! ) no one hears us (or wants to hear us!), we have this community. This place where we can come rest a while, reach out, and know one of us will come give us a nudge and say”I hear you”. And when one of us says I know how you feel we just might be able to reply “You do, don’t you? — instead of the thousand time we thought “No, you don’t!”
Would you look at what your poem makes me say. Oh dear. And thank you!
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Heartfelt thanks, Laure-Anne. And yes, hooray for Vox Populi!
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Dear Christine,
What a brilliant result your poem makes. The idea behind it is intriguing, itself. I’ve used similar word-borrowing from poetic mentors to avoid writer’s block. For example, as you write: My old lives turn white, I might change the phrase to Our old words turn to sunsets in an unblocking share with you and Lisel. Makes a good title.
There’s a singing you share with Mueller, as I’ve been recently reading her for the first time. Here are four lines of hers from a poem called Letter From The End Of The World:
I started out as a girl
without a shadow, in iron shoes;
now, at the end of the world
I am a woman full of rain…
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Yes, it’s my first move too. Pull up sticks, withdraw into my snail ‘house’. Pull in my feelers.
Christine, I have just read your poem for the third time. “Words tumble down / in black but, still, light shines from the houses, / from the world of now, of names, even when / new naming does nothing to uncloud the years, / two failing eyes.” What a gorgeous poem.
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“Tell me, do we really
fall in love, or just let ourselves stand there,
the must-do head giving way to someone else’s arms,”.
Oh, but in another sense, the arms are once again my son wearing a hazmat suit to hug me during Covid, the goodnight hugs after Easter with his family last night. Somehow the carnal sense becomes less important and so long ago.
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The beginning of a song, Barb.
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Yes, at least there are volcanoes.
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This is wonderful.
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I love this clever tribute to Lisel Mueller’s poems.
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Thank you, Michael. I was inspired to write this poem, long ago, when Amazon had a “concordance” feature showing the top 100 words used in a book. I was very fortunate to know Lisel Mueller, and I’m grateful that I was able to read her this poem of tribute. She was not at all surprised to learn that “hands” and “eyes” were two of the most used words in Second Language.
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Thanks, Christine. I am always fascinated by the story behind a poem, especially one that refers to another poet. Hands and eyes… makes sense.
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Christine: What you have done here is so wonderful. It finds me after a day of sudden bewildering separation from a beloved relative, harsh words exchanged that only have driven me into myself, into the questioning places of this poem: words tumbled down in black. It has always been too easy for me to move toward aloneness. To that refuge we share with Lisel. There is still house shine after dark.
Poetry is everything to me.
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So sorry that harsh words have caused you pain, Sean. We’ve all had that experience, and at times I too have spoken harsh words that caused pain. Thank you for sharing… Michael Simms
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Michael: There are at least the volcanoes shining like blue, gem-studded jewels out here against the sky. Hood is iconic, intrepid. The soft, benign mound of St Helens’ deep-earth mastectomy hearkens remembrance and empathy of loss. “Even vistas are mortal.” Alan Gurganus
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“It has always been too easy for me to move toward aloneness” yes
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Thank you, Sean. Sending best wishes — take good care!
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Thank you both! Michael Simms
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Christine: after reading your poem, I (on pacific time this moment) fell back into sleep, imagined talking to you about the poem in a dream state, how good it is and important we raise it into wakefulness. What a lovely thing you have done, perhaps out of a dream.
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